To The Den of Deadly Sins
by Dragonrocks4u
Summary: One nightmare ends and another begins. One girl's frantic search for acceptance leads her to the arms of an unlikely companion. And when a new menace rears its head, who better to stop it than the dwellers of the den of deadly sins. *Note*Unfortunately, I've lost my editors, so this story will go largely unedited. If I can find new editors then I will come back and edit it.
1. Prologue

Prologue

_In the endless dark of night, who knows what you might find. While most fear to tread in the realm of monsters, those who set foot upon the earth while the moon reigns might find the unexpected._

_ The creatures of the night are not unkind. They themselves only crave humanity, love. Is this not all that we have, in the end? Who might say that they are no less human that I?_

_ And when their hearts are reached, we may see that they, indeed, love, too._

_ Open your eyes, and see the truth._

_ But beware what awaits, my friend, should you hear my story, and take my hand and follow me into the den of deadly sins._


	2. Chapter 1

To the Den of Deadly Sins

Chapter 1

Waking up to cold tile walls and harsh leather straps was nothing new to Mireille. She had been greeted this way every morning for nearly three years, and had slowly grown used to the deathly chemical smell and pale flickering lights of her cell.

It was rare, though, to receive visitors. But every once in a while, her elder sister would sneak away to see the miserable Mireille.

A nurse, or guard, really, pounded on the iron door outside Mireille's room. "Carrie's here to see you."

The bolt slid back and the stained door creaked open, and in walked the lovely Carrie. The fourteen year old girl clutched a woven sack closely to her chest, slinking timidly closer to the bed Mireille was strapped to.

"Happy birthday, little sister," Carrie sang as the door swung closed behind her.

"You hadn't forgotten?" Mireille's eyes lit up when she saw the sack.

"Of course not. Mother and Father may have forgotten you, but I never would." Carrie sat down on the bed next to her sister, placing the sack on her lap. "I got you something."

"What? What is it?"

"Hold on, hold on." Carrie reached into the sack and pulled out a long object wrapped in brown paper. She pulled off the paper to reveal a worn leather mask, a plague doctor's mask, with glass bubble eyes and a horn-like beak. The beak had been stuffed with mint.

"It's beautiful." Mireille's wide eyes slid over the ancient stitches and faded hide.

"I found it in an antiques store. I put mint in it, because that's what the plague doctors used to protect themselves from the sickness. I figured it could help you." Carrie took the mask from Mireille's hands and slid it over her sister's face, adjusting the straps behind her head. She ran her fingers through Mireille's long, snow-white hair, pulling it free from the mask. "How does that feel?"

Mireille smiled. "Wonderful. Oh, I love it, Carrie! Thank you!" The scratched glass could not hide the joy in Mireille's eyes.

Carrie sat back and put her hand in her sister's. "Wow. I can't believe you've turned eight already. It only seems like yesterday that you…" Carrie stopped. "Well. Never mind. The past is past, right, Mireille? We can laugh about it all when you come home."

Mireille sensed the tenseness in Carrie's voice. "That's what you said last time." Mireille clutched her sister's hand. "I'm not coming home, am I?"

"Of course you are!" Carrie started. "I'll tear down the wall and fight off the nurses myself, if I have too." Carrie stood and took her sack in her hands.

"You have to go already?"

"Sorry, love. Mother doesn't know I'm here. I'll get in trouble if she realizes I'm gone. But I'll come again soon, I promise." Carrie knocked on the door to be let out, and gave Mireille one last glance before the door slammed shut behind her.

Carrie started down the hall to the exit. She didn't want to stay any longer than she had to, even for her sister's sake.

As she walked, Carrie began to unwillingly wander back into her memories, the memory of the night when Mireille was taken away. Such a cold night. Such a dark, cold night.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Mireille's pen scratched feverishly across the yellow paper on the desk in front of her. Strange lines, curling arcs, alien shapes danced across the sheet. Many papers like it were strewn across her room, like dead leaves in a forgotten wood.

The light had long since faded. Mireille, straining to see, reached up and pulled open her window, letting in the crisp night air and the blue light of the moon. With them came a sound, a gentle whine, flowing up and down like a stream following a sloping hillside. This sound was not unknown to Mireille; in fact she knew it very well. She had listened to it almost every night since she was a child. She was forbidden to go outside, so this was all the freedom she had.

Mireille peeked out from the corner of the window, just barely able to see a tall man in a dark coat standing on the cobblestone street corner, holding a wooden carving with strings on it. His eyes were closed as he drew his stick across the strings. When the stick was slow, the sound was slow and quiet; when it danced quickly about, the sound was high and light. To Mireille, this was magic.

Of course, Mireille had no reason to know what a violin was. She had never gone outside her home. She was never sure why her mother never let her out, but Mireille had assumed she had good reason.

The girl leaned back over her paper, the rectangle of blue light illuminating her strange scribbles. But the light also fell on her face.

Mireille had never seen her face. There were no mirrors in her house. All she knew was that she was different from her family. She used to put her hands to Carrie's face, rub her soft cheeks and sloped nose. But when she put her hands to her own face, it did not feel like Carrie's.

Her own face felt rough, crooked, even hard and bony in some places. She could not feel a nose, either. There was only a swollen hole between her eyes. This had not bothered her, however, until one fateful day when a curious Mireille wanted to see the rain. She stuck her head out the window and came face to face with the paperboy. The boy looked up, startled, and started to apologize before he noticed Mireille. He stuttered, wide-eyed, and backed away slowly before turning on his heel and dashing away down the street, leaving his bike under the window. Mireille would have gone out after him had her mother not whisked her away from the window and slammed it shut. This was when Mireille was three.

Now, at five, Mireille lived happily in her room, writing her strange writings and watching the man with the magic stick. This was all she had ever know in life, so this was all she needed.

Mireille put down her pen, having finished another page, and sighed. It was hard work, writing down these strange things. She really had no idea what they meant. They were, for lack of a better explanation, the visual form of what Mireille heard the magic-stick man play. Sometimes she even wrote her own sounds, using her special made-up language.

Mireille added the sheet to a stack of papers and moved them to the corner of her desk before grabbing a clean sheet and beginning to fill it with more shapes.

Before she could get very far, however, the door to her room burst open, and a series of tall men with white coats and gloves rushed in, some carrying sharp tubes, and others carrying chains.

Two of them grabbed Mireille by the shoulders, throwing her to the floor and binding her wrists. Mireille struggled against them, writhing and screaming. From her place on the floor, she could see a long shadow enter from the hall. The feet that cast the shadow were large, and walked with long, slow strides. They stopped by Mireille's face.

"Interesting. Never seen one like this before," came a nasally voice from above the feet.

The feet turned and moved to the desk. Mireille heard papers rustling. "Very interesting. Some sort of psychosis due to her…_condition_, no less. Very well. Take her."

The men holding her pulled her roughly to her feet. They dragged her, kicking and screaming, down the hall and out the door to a waiting carriage. Mireille barely managed to twist around for a moment, to see her sister's tear-stained face haloed by the yellow light in the doorway. Then the door slammed shut and Mireille was driven away, never to see home again.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Mireille lay awake in her cell, her tired eyes searching the filthy tile ceiling. Her mind swam, barely managing to remember that fateful night. It had felt like millennia since then. She hated it here. The nurses were cruel, the guards were brutal, and the doctors were…

Mireille knew she would not go home. She could feel it. She had been left to the mercy of the hospital.

Mireille rolled over on her side. The wire bed frame creaked beneath her. When she closed her eyes, all she could see was the face of the doctor, the man who had first dragged her in here. His beady eyes sat low over a pointed nose and yellow, crooked smile. Mireille was glad she did not have a face like that.

But when she opened her eyes, she saw the faded blue and white striped mattress with the mysterious stains, and the moth-eaten pillow, and threadbare blanket. On the table beside her sat the mask. It's dim, lifeless eyes stared back at her. Mireille wasn't sure what she thought of the mask. It wasn't her. It was the face that everyone wanted her to have. But maybe that was what was best…

Mireille jumped at the sound of the door bolt sliding open. A crack of light pierced the darkness as the door opened, then disappeared the second it closed. Mireille held her breath. There was someone else in the room with her. She shut her eyes tight against the darkness.

A sharp pain in her upper arm made her wince. She opened her eyes to see one of the nurses, syringe in hand. Mireille started to feel dizzy.

The nurse rolled her over on her back. "Make a noise and you die," he hissed, holding up a gleaming silver knife.

Mireille didn't dare move. Her eyes were fixed on the blade. She didn't realize what was happening until the nurse slid his hand under her hospital gown.

Mireille panicked, and kicked out, catching the nurse in the jaw, sending him reeling backwards. She sat up and rolled out of bed, where she fell to the floor in a daze.

The nurse straightened up, rubbing his jaw, blood trickling from his mouth. "You little bitch! You'll pay for this!" He lunged forward, slashing at Mireille. She fell back, barely managing to dodge the blade.

Using the bed, she struggled to her feet. She grabbed the table and swung with all her might, striking the nurse in the side of the head. He spun around and caught himself on the wall. Mireille threw herself at him, knocking him to the floor and landing on top of him.

Mireille leaped to her feet, staggered, then righted herself, prepared to fight. But the nurse didn't move.

She crept over to the motionless form, poked him with her foot, then, seeing he was unresponsive, rolled him over onto his back. She gasped when she saw the knife protruding from his chest. It had been plunged into him when he fell, puncturing his heart. A pool of blood was growing around his body.

Mireille fell to her knees in shock. She felt light-headed, dizzy, sick. She had just killed a man. Then she noticed something gleaming on his belt.

Mireille held up the cell keys, examining them in the beams of light streaming in through the barred window high on the wall. These were surely her ticket to freedom, her means of escape. This was fate.

Mireille glanced at the body on the floor, then snatched her mask from the table and dashed out the door.

She managed to sneak by the patrolling guards on her way to the exit, slipping on her mask as she went. Finally, she had reached the only doors standing between her and a life of freedom.

She unlocked the doors and pushed them open, feeling the blast of cold night air on her body. She stood there for a moment, absorbing the reality of escape. She let the keys fall from her fingers onto the brick below.

Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted by a cry behind her.

"Guards! Guards, she's escaping!"

Mireille took off. She careened around a corner and into an alleyway, hurtling boxes and dodging barrels. She zipped back and forth, in and out, left and right, racing the cry of voices and the shriek of whistles behind her. And she was lost.

Her chest burned, and her head pounded. Her bare feet were bleeding and sore from the brick roads. The voices behind her were gone now. All she heard was a dog bark, and carriage wheels on cobblestone.

Mireille started walking, limping really, away. She didn't know where she was going, but she couldn't stay there.

As she walked, she gradually became aware of a warm, wet sensation spreading down her body. It felt like warm water was dripping down her gown. She looked down to see that her gown had turned almost entirely red. She hadn't even realized that she had been stabbed.

There was a tear in her gown, just above her right ribcage, and under it was a deep gash in her chest. The blood dripped down her legs and onto the stones.

Mireille knew she had to get help. Obviously, she couldn't go back to the hospital. She had to find help elsewhere.

Then the voices started again. It sounded like there were more of them this time. And dogs, too. Everyone was after her. Mireille ran.

She could feel the blood draining from her body. She began to lose balance, tripping and tumbling to the ground a few times. She had to hide.

She ducked down another alleyway, and spotted a sewer grate at the corner of the ground and wall. She dropped to her knees and tried to pry it open. The voices got closer. She could feel herself losing consciousness.

With one great tug, she felt the grate give way. She dropped down into the darkness below and reached up to replace the grate. Seconds after retracting her hands, she saw an army of men and dogs come rushing around the corner. They passed by without even slowing down.

Mireille sighed, relieved. Then she remembered she needed help. She figured that whoever lived in this building could help her. But she hadn't gotten a very good look at the building before she dove into its basement. High above her head, the massive structure reached skyward with its elegant dome and intricate carvings. This was no mere lodging.

The further Mireille got into the labyrinth, the less sure she was that she could get out again. She turned corners and climbed ladders, and descended a great, spiralling staircase that led to some hidden door, all in almost complete darkness.

As Mireille stepped off the bottom step and reached out to the door, she thought she felt something like a draft behind her. She turned around for a moment, to see if anyone was there. There was no one. Then suddenly she heard a quiet _thud_ behind her. She whirled around.

Standing between her and the hidden door was a tall, shadowy figure. Mireille would not have even been sure if there was anyone there at all if it hadn't been for the shadow's glowing golden eyes. They were almost inhuman, and were infused with rage and mischief and sadness all in one.

Mireille was so startled by the shadow's appearance that she staggered back, slipped on the bottom stair, and tumbled backwards. She slammed into the staircase, the base of her skull impacting with the protruding edge of a stair. In less than an instant, she was unconscious, those burning eyes the last thing she saw.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Mireille groaned and opened her eyes. She was met with nothing but unrelenting darkness, and the feeling of another's unseen presence.

A light flickered on beside her, as if a match had been lit, but she could see no source. The empty darkness went on forever beyond the dancing light.

A face appeared in the light. The horrible grin and the pointed nose and the piercing eyes had returned. A body followed, wiry and skeletal. Mireille could feel her skin grow cold at the sight of him. Then the voice:

"_I will find you, my precious… I will find you…"_

The raspy whisper sounded so close, as if he were leaning over her, whispering in her ear…

"_I will find you… You will be mine…"_

Mireille shot up in her bed. The doctor was gone. The darkness had gone, too, and was replaced with the soft, gentle glow of candlelight, coming from somewhere behind a black lace curtain.

Whatever she had seen was gone. It had only been a dream, a nightmare. But was she really awake?

Mireille slowly began to process what had happened. She had escaped from the hospital, hid in the sewers, then… nothing. She couldn't remember how she had gotten here. Where… where was 'here'?

She certainly wasn't back in her cell. The bed she was in was plush and elegant, designed like a royal bird, overflowing with crimson cloth. Mireille slid out of the bed and onto the carpeted floor. She looked down, realizing she herself had changed, as well.

Her bloodstained hospital dress had been replaced by a black satin gown, trimmed with lace and midnight-coloured stones. She ran her hand over her chest. Her wound had been bandaged, wrapped tightly in clean white cotton. She could barely feel it now.

This was all so strange. It was as if she had traded lives with someone, a princess, perhaps. She couldn't imagine anyone like herself being treated in this manner. But no, she was still Mireille.

Beside the bed there was a carved table, and on it sat her leather mask, the empty eyes still staring into a distant world. Mireille picked it up, but did not put it on. For some strange reason, she felt… safe here. Welcome.

Mireille drew back the curtain to reveal an expansive cave, lit entirely by candles. The firelight flickered off the various tapestries and carvings, casting shivering shadows on the rough rock walls.

The section of the cave she was in was only a fraction of the whole thing. Only a few feet from where she was standing, the rock dropped off into a murky lake, which stretched out into the darkness further than Mireille could see. The candlelight did not extend beyond the shoreline.

_I must be dead,_ Mireille thought. _I must have died and now I'm in some otherworldly realm._

Mireille spun around, trying to take in every inch of her surroundings. It was only then that she noticed some gigantic structure built into the wall behind her.

The contraption, to Mireille, would have been indescribable. It would be simpler to state that it was an organ, but to Mireille, who had never been exposed to anything of the like, it was pure magic.

She ran her fingers over the yellowed keys. She felt them shift as she touched them, and pressed down harder to see what would happen. The inevitable shriek of the pipes blasted through the cave, resounding into the darkness. Mireille dropped to her knees and covered her head, less terrified of the noise, and more of what had been awakened in that terrible darkness.

The sound faded, and Mireille slowly stood, realizing that she was the only living thing in the cave. She decided then that she would never touch that strange contraption again.

Mireille turned her head, looking for an exit. She had noticed a passageway behind a velvet curtain when she suddenly caught sight of something moving in the darkness. Something bloody and horrible. It was a face, or what used to be a face. The skin was weathered and brown, pulled taught at the edges and cracked and bleeding in the middle, like it had been burned and never healed. Only the lower jaw appeared unmarred. The nose was only a hole, and the two eyes on either side looked dead and dim. And they were staring right at her.

Mireille screamed, ducking back behind the organ. The monster did the same. Trembling, she peeked around the corner at the spot she had seen the monster standing. Her heart dropped when she realized it was a mirror.

Mireille stood, shaking, and stepped in front of the glass. Her reflection had the same horrified, awed, heartbroken expression etched into its rotting features. Mireille reached up and put her hands to her cheeks. The monster did the same.

Mireille could feel the tears well up behind her eyes and slide slowly down her death-like face and onto her hands. This is what she looked like. This is what she really looked like. She could see now why she had been locked up, why Carrie always seemed so scared, why the paper boy had run away. She was a monster.

Mireille backed away from the mirror. She clutched her mask in her hands. She yanked it down over her face and stumbled down the hidden passageway. She could barely see through the darkness and her tears. She just needed to be somewhere else, anywhere else. She couldn't stay in that room, with that creature, any longer.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Mireille felt her way blindly through the intricate tunnels of the cellar. She had climbed stairs and turned down corridors and gone through doors for what felt like hours when she finally noticed a crack of light above her. She stood beneath the light and reached out, feeling a ladder in front of her. She climbed up and put her hand against the ceiling, feeling the rough wood of a trapdoor. She pushed up and it swung open with a reluctant _creak_. Light flooded the tunnel, and fresh air filled her lungs. She had reached the surface.

Mireille poked her head out of the opening in the floor and looked around. It was dark where she was, but certainly brighter than the passageway.

The trapdoor had led her to some sort of storage area or something of the sort. The space was crammed with rope and ladders and bags of sand. There were other things, too, strange things. There was a sizeable flat of wood that had been painted to look like a forest. Behind it sat a large wooden structure with spiralling stairs going up either side. All around the room were racks of colourful, fantastic clothing, from dresses to masks to costumes.

Mireille wanted to see more of this strange place she had stumbled upon. She pulled herself up and out of the hole and made her way into the main part of the room.

The whole room was gigantic. It was at least a hundred feet tall, and just as wide. The part Mireille was standing on was a raised-up wooden platform. Beyond it was a sea of chairs, stretching to the back of the room, and on levels above them. On the wall to either side there were cut-out sections that also had chairs. Mireille thought she saw slight movement in one of them for a moment before becoming distracted with another discovery. Just in front of the platform there was a fenced-off section that sat lower than the floor around it. Inside was an array of strange stands and devices like Mireille had never seen.

Some were tall and curved, others were short and round. Some were wooden, some were metal, and other were long and shiny. But there was one in particular that had caught her attention.

Sitting towards the front of the section there was a group of intricate, polished wooden carvings, each with delicate strings pulled across their slender frames. Mireille recognized these as the violin that the man on the street corner used to play.

That same sweet, gentle, fluid sound filled her ears once more. It lifted her off the ground and wrapped her in its comforting aura. It was the first familiar thing Mireille had found since waking up. She suddenly had the urge to hold it.

With gentle, graceful hands she took the instrument by its neck and held it against her chin like she had seen the man do. She picked up the stick and placed it against the strings. She had no idea how to play it, but she wanted so desperately to hear the soothing music again that she took a deep breath and played.

The sound that came from the strings was just like she had heard every night of her childhood. The quick, light birdsong and the slow, solemn requiem flourished from the bow in her hand as she played. She closed her eyes and let herself be immersed in the bliss of the music, swept away by the pure passion that she felt in her heart.

She felt the music take her up, away, into a whole new world she had never known. She let the shivering tones flow through her. She danced about the stage, sweeping and bowing, her eyes still closed, grinning from ear to ear. Twirling and leaping, she swayed to the beauty she knew she was born to create.

Suddenly her mind came crashing back to earth. There were voices, whispers, coming from the back of the room, in the shadows by the doors.

"…and I thought there might have been some backdoor to the situation, but-"

"Shh. Andre, did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"I don't know. A violin, I think. Coming from the stage."

"I didn't hear anything."

"Wait. You don't think…_he's_ back…"

"Firmin, you've lost your mind, my friend. Come. We have other business to attend to."

The two voices faded as the door opened and shut again. The room was silent again.

The curtain quivered gently as Mireille peeked out from her hiding place. She was trembling uncontrollably. How stupid she was to leave the safety of the cave! What if she had been seen? She might have been sent back to the hospital. Or worse, she would be arrested for the murder of the guard! She would be executed! Though perhaps death was preferable at this point… Hiding in the shadows was very lonely.

Mireille gathered herself and began to retrace her steps back to the cave. At least she would be safe there.


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Mireille scurried back down the ladder, dropping the last few rungs and landing in a small puddle with a quiet _splash_. It echoed harshly in the tunnel, growing in volume as it cascaded down the stone archways. Mireille winced, awaiting some fearsome beast, awoken from its slumber, to come charging out from the inky blackness and tear her to shreds. But nothing came.

Still visibly tense, Mireille slunk down the passage as quietly as she could. She still expected some beast to lurch out at her from the various openings and tunnels branching off from the main hallway. Or perhaps that man that had startled her earlier. Had that been a man? He seemed more like a spectre, a shell of what once was living, the life long since cruelly drained from his ragged body. Whatever he was, Mireille thought, he was in pain. That much she knew.

Retracing her steps, Mireille eventually meandered back to the secret passage she had found herself in before. This time, however, she could hear…music. It was music unlike anything she had ever heard before. At times, the sound was harsh and sharp, beating out a dire rhythm with its powerful blasts. Then it was quiet, pathetic, whispering a lonely birdcall to only the keenest of hearing. This was nothing like the strange stringed instrument she had held only minutes before. This sounded…heavier.

The closer she got, the clearer the sound became. Whoever was playing, they were good. Very good.

Mireille reached the end of the passage and peeked around the corner. Just then, she noticed someone sitting at the organ. She jumped back behind a stone column. Peering around it, she could see the shadowy figure clearly. It was the strange man.

He seemed so much more natural sitting there, his fingers dancing over the yellowed keys. His eyes were closed, yet he played flawlessly, effortlessly. His pale face held life, a passion flowing through his veins that Mireille had not seen before.

The man half-opened his eyes and glanced at where Mireille was standing. "You can come out, there's little use in hiding from me, you know," he said, still playing.

Mireille felt her face burn with embarrassment. She shuffled out from behind the column.

The man stopped playing and turned on the bench to face her. Now that he was looking at her, she knew he was undoubtedly the man who found her in the tunnel.

He looked different now, in the light of the candles. His eyes were soft, not suspicious and accusing like they had been before. He did not smile, but he did not seem angry.

"Come," he gestured to her. "Let me see you."

Mireille bowed her head and stepped forward from the shadows.

He stood and gently grasped her hand, pulling her closer. He ran his hand along the seams of the worn leather mask.

Only then did she notice a sadness that had not been there before.

"What do they call you?" he finally asked.

"Mireille," she replied meekly.

"Mireille. 'Miracle'. How ironic."

"Ironic?"

"A miracle you may be, yet you have been cursed, tainted with a poison for which there is no cure." He turned away, placing his hand on his own cold, white mask. He was silent for a moment.

"Here," he said, without turning, gesturing to a pile of folded clothing next to him. "Put these on. You are more suited to them than a black gown, I think."

Without a word, Mireille stepped forward and took the clothing from him. Then she hesitated.

"You saved me."

The man said nothing.

"You saved me. Why?" Mireille, feeling bolder, looked him in the eye for the first time. "You took pity on me."

"No," he said quickly. "I couldn't just let you die there. What would I do if someone else had found you? Imagine the trouble that would cause me…"

Mireille smiled slightly. "I don't believe that."

The man looked away, almost shamefully. Then he stood and turned to leave. "I'll leave you to change," he said without looking back.

"Wait."

He stopped, but did not turn.

"What do I call you?"

"I am known simply as The Phantom."

"No," Mireille smiled sadly. "No, you must have a name. What did your mother call you?"

He hesitated. Turning his head, he looked and Mireille and sighed.

"My name is Erik."


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Mireille admired herself in the mirror. The clothes Erik had given her were various pieces of costumes, including black felt slacks, a ruffled blouse, leather boots, and a hooded blue velvet cloak with gold trim. She tied her hair in a blue ribbon and pulled it through the straps on her mask. She almost looked normal now.

She pulled back the curtain and stepped out into the candlelight. "How do I look?"

"Wonderful." Erik smiled. "Do you like them?"

"Oh, very much, thank you. You know," Mireille paused. "You never answered my question."

"Question?"

"Why did you save me, really?"

"Well, I told you. I can't have the body of a girl found near my lodgings. That would seem rather suspicious."

"No, that's not a very good answer." Mireille sat next to Erik on the stool. "I think you felt bad for me."

"And why would I do that?"

"Because… I'm like you." Mireille reached up and gently touched his face. "You and I, we're the same."

Erik was silent. "Perhaps…" he whispered. He smiled as Mireille yawned and rubbed her eyes. "You've had a long day. You should rest."

He took her hand and led her to a small raft moored to the bank. It had been made up with blankets and pillows.

"A bed on the water?"

Erik nodded. "It will drift you away to your dreams." He held her hand and helped her into the boat. When she was settled, he pulled the blankets up to her chin. "Sleep. Tomorrow, I will show you something amazing. But for now, sleep."

Erik sat down at the organ and began playing a gentle, flowing melody, one that filled Mireille's heart and soothed her. She felt her eyes getting heavy. She could hear Erik softly singing along with the music. His voice was beautiful.

Mireille smiled and closed her eyes, letting the rocking boat lull her into a gentle sleep.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Mireille opened her eyes to the absolute darkness of the farthest reaches of her mind. There was nothing but darkness. She floated, suspended in the enveloping void of the dream.

Then a figure began to form, hazy, in the distant emptiness. It was coming towards her, gradually closer. Mireille strained to make out the form. It was her sister.

"Carrie?"

The figure did not answer, but no longer was it moving. It had stopped several paces away, but still close enough to make out her face clearly. She looked so real.

"Carrie, why won't you speak to me? Why did you abandon me?"

"Abandon you? Sister, you are not worth even spit upon in the street. What makes you think I cared about you?"

"Wh-what?" Mireille's voice shook.

"You are not one of us. You are a monster. A demon. You do not belong here. So we locked you away in hell where you belong."

"Carrie?!" Mireille reached out to her sister, but could not reach her. "Carrie!"

Carrie said nothing more. She turned away and vanished into the aether without another glance, leaving Mireille alone in her nightmare.

"C-Carrie…"

"_Mireille…_"

"Carrie?"

"_Mireille…_"

"Carrie, I'm here!"

"_Mireille, open your eyes…_"

"My eyes are open, Carrie! I can't see you!"

"_Open your eyes, Mireille. Wake up."_

…

Mireille groaned and sat up, rubbing her eyes. "Huh? What happened? Who's… calling me?"

"I was."

Mireille started at Erik's voice beside her.

"Oh! It's you…"

"You were dreaming. You must have had a nightmare."

"A nightmare?" Mireille stood up in the boat and stretched.

"You were calling for someone. Carrie?"

"My sister."

"I see. Are you alright?"

"Yes, I…I think so. It was just so…real."

"I understand." Erik offered her his hand and helped her out of the boat. "Come with me. There is something I want to show you."

Erik led Mireille up through winding staircases and forgotten ladders to the opera house rooftops. The sun had yet to rise, and the cold night air stung her lungs as she poked her head out of the hatch.

"What time is it?"

"Early."

"Yes, I can see that," Mireille huffed and pulled herself up. "Why did you bring me here?"

"Look out there." Erik pointed out at the buildings and houses in the distance. They looked like gravestones in the dark.

"What about it?"

"Wait…"

Mireille turned back to him, confused, and saw him watching the eastern horizon. Suddenly, the clouds erupted into colour and light as the sun broke through the night.

"Whoa!"

"Now look at it." Erik motioned to the city.

Mireille turned around and was met with the vibrant rainbow of morning, embracing every crevice and corner of Paris. The sky was still dark, but the city below was lit with red and pink and gold. The fire burned on every rooftop, in every window, on every street.

"Now do you see why I brought you here?" Erik said quietly. "I believe that sunrise is the one time that Heaven meets Earth. Everyone should have a chance to see it," he added. "Even us monsters."

Erik smiled forlornly, and Mireille smiled back. She stared in silent awe at the world before her.

"I…find it therapeutic to spend time alone up here. I think it would do you some good as well. I will leave you to yourself. I trust you can find your way back? I will await your return. I have things to do myself."

Erik disappeared back into the hatch, leaving Mireille alone to contemplate her thoughts. She went to the edge and sat down, swinging her legs over the edge. The city truly was beautiful from up there.


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Mireille clambered back down the ladder into the warmth below. The cold night air had left her shivering.

The sun had long since risen, the sky turned blue and the rainbow flame gone from the city. People were now awake and about, and even though she knew they could not see her, Mireille still felt exposed. So she elected to return to the bowels of the opera house.

As she walked, she wondered about what she would do. Perhaps she should try and find her home? That dream, it couldn't be true. Carrie still loved her, her parents still loved her. They couldn't have had a choice in her arrest, could they? No, surely not, surely they would have stopped it if they had…

As she neared the cavern Mireille could hear the music she had encountered the first time. Now it was erratic and slow, as if Erik was deciding how to play it. He had mentioned working on something.

She could hear him talking to himself. Erik was frustrated. Something must not be going very well, Mireille thought. She had never considered writing music very difficult. She had always just written what she could hear in her mind. Maybe Erik was doing something different than her?

Mireille rounded the corner just in time to avoid being beaned by a flying book. She ducked back behind the wall just in case another followed.

She could see Erik bent over the organ, muttering incoherently to himself. Mireille bent down and gathered together the papers that had spilled out of the book. It was sheet music.

Mireille recognised some of the markings. They were similar to her own, and she could read it fluently. She took a pen and made some markings on the papers, and scratched some out. She put them back in order and crept up to Erik, gingerly handing the book to him.

Erik turned his head and saw her there, holding the book expectantly. He gently took it from her, attempting to bridle his anger. "Thank you."

He spread the papers out on his table and read over the music again, noticing the changes Mireille had made. "Did…did you fix this?"

Mireille hesitated, then nodded quickly.

"It's… wait." Erik took the papers back to the organ and played out the chord progressions that Mireille had written for him. He stepped back, awed. "That's…it. That's it! That's what it was…" He turned to her. "How did you do that?"

Mireille shrugged. "I just… heard it in my head. And I wrote it down. Did it help?"

"Yes, my dear," Erik smiled and knelt down to her. "It did."

"What is it, anyway?"

"An opera."

"What is it about?"

Erik shuffled the papers and sat down on the bench. "A demon trapped amoung the humans he was sent to damn."

"Can I see?"

"Perhaps, if I finish in time."

"In time?" Mireille cocked her head. "For what?"

"Your departure."

"D-departure?"

"Yes. I can't keep you here."

"B-but…"

Erik's demeanour suddenly changed. "What, you didn't expect to stay here, did you?"

"Well, I… where will you send me?"

"Back to the ward, of course."

Mireille started. "The ward? You're taking me back to the hospital? You can't do that!"

"I have no choice."

"I… I thought… I could stay with you…"

Erik flushed. "That would not be a good idea. Besides, do you think I want you here? I don't have the time or patience to look after a child."

Mireille huffed. "I'd rather die than go back there."

"So be it."

Shocked, Mireille stood silent for a moment. The sting of his words sunk in. She thought she had found a friend. Clearly, she was wrong.

"Fine!" Mireille turned and took off down the passageway, tears blurring her vision. She kept running. She didn't belong there, either. But no way was she going back to that hospital.

Mireille forced open the grate and pulled herself up onto the pavement. She stumbled to her feet and hurried down the street. She hoped Erik wasn't following her, though she couldn't see why he would care enough to. The sky darkened.

The sun had long since set. Shadows crept along the walls, noises echoed through the streets, but Mireille kept going.

Mireille pulled her hood down tighter over her head. A light rain had begun to fall. Mireille splashed through the small puddles gathering in the uneven cobblestones of the alleyway.

Mireille knew the streets would be empty by now, but she still felt like someone was watching her. She jumped at a dog bark from somewhere behind her. Her heart began to race.

Mireille's pace quickened. She turned and looked over her shoulder every few seconds, certain someone was following her.

She quickly turned a corner and slammed into a dark figure. She stumbled back and caught herself, looking up into the face of a drunk thug. "I-I'm sorry," she stammered, backing away slowly.

"Yeah, you're gonna be sorry," the thug slurred. He grabbed Mireille's collar and pulled her forward. He yanked off her hood and peered closer, confused by Mireille's masked face. "What, the… what are ya, some sort of circus _freak_?"

Mireille wriggled her way out of the thug's grip and pushed off him. She took off down the alleyway, the filthy water splashing up around her legs.

She rounded the corner and impacted with what felt and looked like a wall of darkness. Before she could make out its face, the thug came pounding around the corner, skidding to a stop behind her. He grabbed her shoulder and spun her around, leering at her with cold eyes. "You won't get away from me this time."

The thug sneered and pulled out a knife, flipping it open and waving it in Mireille's face. She couldn't take her terrified eyes off the glimmering blade.

"That would be a mistake," the shadow spoke. It stepped in front of Mireille, holding out his cape between her and her attacker. He never took his golden eyes off him.

"What's it to you, freak? You're _both_ freaks. I think I'll kill you both."

Before the thug even had time to move, the shadow lunged forward and had a rope around his neck, dragging him down to his knees.

"I told you that was a mistake."

The thug choked and clawed at his throat. His face went pale and his eyes were wide. "M-mercy…"

The shadow didn't move. He kept his grip on the rope tight, strangling the life from his victim.

Mireille broke down. "Erik! Stop!" she cried. She didn't dare move for fear that he would turn on her.

Erik lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers. He could see the tears streaming down her face, even behind the mask.

Erik hesitated, then loosened his grip and let the rope fall to the ground. The thug gasped for air, turning to see the shadow behind him. "You're insane!" He turned to Mireille. "Both of you, you're _freaks_!" He jumped up and ran off, stumbling on the stones as he lurched into the street and disappeared.

Mireille watched him go, but Erik didn't take his eyes off his ward.

"Are you alright?" his voice was surprisingly calm, soft and alluring.

Mireille took a step towards him, teary-eyed, before collapsing into his arms.

"I'm so sorry!" she sobbed, shuddering with every breath. "I did this! You told me not to go and I did! It's all my fault!"

Erik said nothing as she wept, only held her in silence, his eyes closed in patient thought. Eventually her shivering eased and she began to breath normally again, her face still red and tear-stained. She slowly raised her head and looked up into his eyes. "I…I am sorry…"

"Don't be."

"What?" Mireille sniffled.

"I blame myself. It is only fair a child should want to find comfort and safety, preferably with her family. I… should at least have given you a reason for my actions."

"Which are…?"

"I hope that you will never know the pain I've known." Erik paused. "But you should know… Your family doesn't want you."

"What? What, of-of course they want me." Mireille stood up quickly and wiped her face with her sleeve. "I-I'm their daughter."

"Then why did they allow you to be taken away?"

"Well, I…figured they had no control over it. It wasn't their choice."

"Did they ever _once_ see you in hospital?"

"Well, Carrie did."

"Did she seem particularly happy about it?"

"N-no…"

Erik shook his head. "You must understand, Mireille. We are not like them. They will never accept us. We are monsters to them. Nothing more than _monsters_."

"No, no I don't believe you. They loved me. Carrie loved me, at least…"

"Do you still want to see them?"

Mireille hesitated. "Yes." She said firmly. "Yes, I do."

"Then come with me. I will take you to them."

The whole walk there, Mireille could hardly contain the excitement of seeing her family again. Oh, how happy they would be to see her! But a cold, merciless thought kept penetrating her joy. What if Erik was right? What if her family didn't want to see her again? What if they were glad to be rid of her? Then what would become of her? Surely Erik would force her back to the hospital. And then she could not escape home. Ever. She would have no home left to escape back to. No, no, that was impossible…right?

As they approached the house, Mireille spotted her bedroom window. It was so strange to see her life from the outside. She stood under the windowsill and imagined the warm light flickering in the shutters, and her prying them open to let the cold night air and the heavenly music in. Now the light was gone, and so, too, was the music. Her window was dark and locked, and nothing moved inside. Mireille felt her heart sink a little.

"_Mirielle_," Erik whispered and gestured for her to join him, crouched under the large family room window.

A bright, warm glow spilled out from the window, and Mireille could her laughter from within. She recognised her sister's laugh! In her joy, Mireille sprang up and peeked over the sill… to see her mother, and father, and sister, and a strange boy Carrie's age sitting around the fire talking, laughing, loving. There was no sign at all that anything was amiss, that anyone was missing. By all rights, they should have been grief-stricken, at the very least quiet and remorseful. But Mireille had never seen them so happy before. So…happy. They were happier…without her. Erik _was_ right. She was unwanted. Unloved. Her own family had forgotten her, her own sister. Everything Mireille had ever know, ever had, the little she had to value in her life had been stripped away, poisoned by that-that _monster_. The face that she had hardly known, the demon latched onto her, the devil wrecking her life _it was her face_.

Mireille was a monster. No one could love a monster. Not even another monster…

She leaned against the wall and slid down to the ground. She kept her eyes on the stones, never looking at Erik. "What…do I do now?" her voice was barely a quivering whisper. "I…have…no one…"

Erik put his hand on her arm. "That's not true."

"You said you didn't want me around. You said you didn't have the patience for a child." Mireille huffed.

"Yes, well. I've come to realise that you are not a child."

"I'm…not?"

"No. You are a fallen angel. Like me. I heard you play the other day. I have never in all my years in the opera house heard anyone play like you did. You are special." Erik smiled gently. "I think I can work with that."

Mireille grinned back at him, standing up and taking his hand, and the two of them started back through the cold night air to their home, together.


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The catwalks shivered and swayed as Mireille's footsteps pounded across the walkways, dozens of feet high in the air. She soared over gaps and swung around corners, her velvet cape flaring out behind her in a shroud of midnight blue.

She knew the pathways well, and spent countless hours following Erik's every step, watching intently as he taught her exactly how to maneuver over the rope-suspended planks. Her confidence was obvious as she practically flew from platform to platform.

Mireille spotted a large gap ahead of her that she knew full well she could not jump. Eyeing a dangling rope beside the catwalk, she clenched her jaw and leaped off, grabbing the rope and swinging over the gap. Looking down she could see the stage far below her, the props and backdrops blurring by. She took a breath and let go.

"Yeah, HAA!"Mireille howled as she plummeted through the air, landing squarely on a platform below and rolling quickly to her feet. Without pausing, she took off again, grinning from ear to ear.

Then she saw it. Her greatest challenge yet. The seven-foot gap that lay before her had bested her time and time again. She had witnessed Erik clear it easily, but he always had to catch her when she couldn't quite make the jump and fell short.

Mireille was fourteen, now. She had considered herself Erik's apprentice for six years now, surely a little jump wouldn't get the best of her?

The gap grew ever closer. It was now or never. Mireille narrowed her eyes and ducked her head. Ten more steps… Her footfalls echo in the rafters. Five… She clenched her fists. Four, Three, Two…

Mireille summoned all her strength and flung herself through the air. She caught her breath and prepared to land…

The heel of her boot caught the edge of the platform and for a moment, she hung there, victorious. Then she felt herself falling back. Mireille flailed her arms, desperately trying to grab anything to stop her fall, but she only caught thin air.

The fall was relatively short, only a few seconds, but to Mireille it felt like an eternal plummet to certain doom. She watched in stunned horror as the props flew past her face in blurred colours and the wooden slats of the stage grew closer.

Suddenly she was ripped back into reality as she slammed into a coil of rope. The thick industrial mass did little to cushion her fall, and a brown cloud of dust billowed up around her as her vision struggled to focus through the shock. Her mask's strap snapped with the force of the impact and it tumbled to the floor.

"Ohhh…Owww…" Mireille groaned weakly and lifted her head, blinking wearily.

"Oh, my lord, are you alright?" A voice came from behind her. "I saw you fall!"

Mireille jumped unsteadily to her feet and whirled around, coming face to face with an angelic girl with soft brown eyes. "Are you hurt?" the girl asked.

"I…I…" Mireille slowly backed away, her eyes fixed on the girl. She started to turn and run when her foot caught a loose board and she went tumbling backwards, catching herself with her hands.

"Ow!" Mireille grabbed her wrist in pain and shied away from the stranger.

"Oh, that can't be good. Here," And before she could protest, the girl seized Mireille's arm and whipped a wooden rod from her hip-bag, placed it on her wrist, and wrapped it tightly with a clean white strip of cloth.

"There! Isn't that better?" The girl stood and took Mireille's hand, helping her up.

"Th-thank you…" Mireille stuttered. She took a few steps back, grabbed her mask off the floor, and took off into the darkness.

"Hey! Hey, wait! Please, come back!"

The girl's cries rang in Mireille's ears as she continues to run further and further into the darkness of the opera house, her heart pounding in her chest.

"Erik! Erik, I'm back!" Mireille called as she hopped down the last few steps into the cavern.

"Ah, Mireille. I've been waiting for you."

"You have?"

"Yes. Remember that project I told you I was working on?"

"Yeah, I remember. You wouldn't let me in the cavern for a week. I had to sleep in the kitchen."

Erik chuckled to himself. "Hm, yes, as you will never let me forget. But, I think I can make it up to you."

Erik stepped to the side to reveal a table with a red velvet cloth covering…something.

"Ooh. What is it?"

"Lift the cloth and find out."

Mireille stepped up to the table and gently removed the cloth to reveal an ornate horned mask, pure white, and adorned with golden wisps and swirls.

"Oh, Erik, it's beautiful!" Mireille lifted the mask to the light of the candles and admired it closely. The mask covered he top half of her face, as well as imitating a nose. Around the eyes were gemstones, and two graceful horns curved up and back from the temples to match the curve of her head. Opulent golden swirls traced the curves and edges of the mask, creating butterflies, flowers, leaves and stars. The mask was finished with a dash of a handful of gold powder to make it shimmer in the light.

"Erik, did you make this?"

"I did." He smiled proudly. "I thought to give you the bet likeness I could. Beautiful, but dangerous."

"Erik, it's amazing! Can I try it on?"

"Please."

Mireille took off her plague doctor's mask and placed it on the table. Lifting the new mask to her face, she closed her eyes and felt the cool red velvet interior cases her skin.

"May I?" Erik took the silk ribbon and tied it around her head, draping her long white hair over it.

"It feels incredible, too. How did you do this?"

"Patience and passion, that's all."

Mireille laughed and clapped her hands. "Thank you, Erik." She threw her arms around him and laughed.

Erik, stunned, slowly put his arms around her and smiled. "You're welcome, my dear."


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The deathly silence of the deep cavern was broken by a tiny _splash_ and little ringlets rippling along the water's surface. An all was quiet again.

Another pebble went skittering across the ground and plopped into the dark water.

Mireille trudged quietly, deep in thought, along the lake-lining path through what she called the 'deep cavern', the vast, pitch-black belly of the opera house which neither she nor Erik ever traverse.

But every once in a while Mireille would need to think, or laugh, or cry in a lonely, quiet place where not even Erik would hear: the deep cavern.

"Why would that girl help me?" she asked no one in particular. "I'm a freak! But she was kind to me?" she said to no one in particular.

"Who was she, I wonder? I don't think I've ever seen her before. Maybe Erik would know? But he doesn't like me talking to people…" And so this went on for several minutes, Mireille questioning herself and everything she had ever known.

_Now, I want to pause this narrative to explain one thing. Perhaps to you, a young girl coming up to you and helping you after a fall is nothing amazing or life changing. But I'm assuming you have a normal face and don't live in the bowels of an opera house. To Mireille, who had only ever been told she was hideous, a monster, or a freak, this was impossible. She had always assumed that no one, not even a girl her age, would want to speak to someone like her. Not only was that alone amazing, but the fact that the girl hadn't even seemed surprised to see Mireille. Not only had she encountered a person whose face looks like it had been eaten by a zombie, or better yet belonged to one, she had also come crashing to the floor from somewhere in the rafters. And yet the girl was unfazed, and seemed more than happy to help. So yes, something like this would make someone like Mireille question everything she had been told by her family, the doctors, Erik, and even herself. Now, carry on._

Mireille sighed. "I've got to find a way to find her. I need to know why she helped me. But how do I find her?" As much as Mireille thought, every solution had its problems. She couldn't go outside the opera house, and even if she could, how would she even find this girl? She didn't even know her name! _And_ even if she could get out and find the girl, what would Erik do? He would know one way or the other. He _always_ knew. But there was no way she could ask him. If he found out she had spoken to a person, she would never be allowed to leave the cavern again! After all, it was both of their presences she had to keep secret.

No, there didn't seem to be anything to do. Mireille would just have to keep thinking, and hope that the girl would show up on her own.


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Something strange was going on within the _Place de l'Opera. _The opera house was usually bustling with activity, the cast rehearsing, the ballet blocking, the orchestra practicing, and the crew setting up, tearing down, and following orders and cues. But now there was a different type of energy amoung them, an excitement that quickly spread from one to the next. People were coming and going, the managers were fusing over everything (at least more than usual) and Mireille was sat in the very peak of the rafters, watching it all.

Finally, she worked up the courage to ask Erik.

"What's going on with the opera? Everyone seems so worked up about everything…"

"A gala," Erik replied curtly.

"A gala? Like a big party? What for?"

"It's not my place to know," Erik continued without looking up from his desk. "But if I had to guess, I'd say a fundraiser of some sort. Those fools will find any excuse to drink themselves into a stupor."

"Can I-"

"Absolutely not."

"But-"

"No."

Mireille crossed her arms. "You didn't even let me finish."

Erik turned to look at her with a skeptical look. "What?"

"Could I at least watch? From the beams? They'd never know I was there."

Erik was silent for a moment. "Do you realize what they would do if they found you? They would drag you back to the hospital, and I wouldn't be able to save you, because if they found you, they would find me. And if they found me, they would undoubtedly shoot me, with no questions asked. Do you understand?"

Mireille blinked. "Sooo… is that a yes or a no?"

"God! You are impossible!"

Mireille smiled. "Yep! So…?"

"Fine. You can go. I'm sure you would go with my permission or without so I might as make things easier on myself."

"Yes!" Mireille jumped up in celebration. "You're the best! I'll be careful, I promise!" she called as she dashed up the stairs and into the darkness.

"God," Erik sighed, his head in his hands. "Children."

The night of the gala was a busy one. Even earlier in the afternoon, before it even started, people were bustling everywhere, servants, cooks, waiters, cast, the whole lot of them wound up on that tense excitement before a momentous celebration such as a gala.

Mireille was excited, too. This was her first time ever seeing a real party like this. But of course, she wasn't satisfied with just _seeing_ it. No, she was going to _attend_ it.

Mireille had had this planned out from the start. Once Erik had given her permission, she had snuck into the costume storage, _borrowed_ a few articles, and returned unnoticed. She managed to keep them hidden until the day of the gala. While all the cast and crew were setting up, she was getting ready.

Donning her horned mask, she admired herself in the mirror. It was perfect. Her golden dress, white leather boots, and deep hood made it impossible for anyone to recognize her. This was going to be a good night.

As the guests arrived, one by one, Mireille sat, silent in the wings, searching for the perfect moment to slip in unnoticed. She had to wait until there were enough people to swallow her up unseen, but it couldn't be so late that she missed all the fun. After all, how many times would she get to experience something like this?

Finally, the time had arrived. There were hundreds of people swarming all over the opera house, and Mireille felt she had more than enough cover. She waited until a group of well-dressed young men passed by to slide out from the shadows and join the crowd.

It was the most intimidating and empowering thing she had ever done. There she was, surrounded by an ocean of people, out in the open, and any moment any one of them could look too closely at her face and yell, "Hey! There's a monster in our midst!" But at the same time, there she was, standing amoung dozens of people, not one of them seeing her. It was as if she was normal, as if she were taunting back at her fate, at Erik, saying, "Ha! Look! I can do it, too!"

And Mireille had never felt better.

There were so many things she wanted to do. First, she was hungry, so she wanted to try some food. There was a long table adorned with trays and plates and pitchers of all sorts of things, the like of which Mireille had never seen. She saw the other people taking small plates and picking out whatever they wanted with a small fork, so that's what she did. Mireille had no idea what things she had gotten, all she knew was that they looked good and tasted delicious.

The next thing she wanted to do was dance. But it seemed like all the other dancers had a partner, and unless she could convince Erik to come up with her, that was not happening. So, Mireille contented herself with sitting in a corner watching the other dancers and tapping her toes to the music.

_This is actually…really boring. Is this what people do?_ Mireille stood up from her lonely seat in the corner and waded her way through the crowd to the balcony.

The late night sky was clear and bright, with a full moon and countless stars. Mireille found a relatively quiet place by the wall and leaned her elbows on the worn stone railing and gazed up at the stars.

There was one particular star that Mireille had always loved. The very brightest one at the end of the little dipper.

"Polaris," Said a voice behind her. "The Ursa Minor. Little Dipper. Little Bear. That's my favourite, too. Even though it's at the end of the 'little' constellation, it still has the strength to shine brightest of all."

Mireille did not dare turn around in hopes that the voice was not directed at her.

"Of course, I'm only guessing that that's what you're looking at. I don't think I got your name the other day, by the way."

Mireille turned, very slowly, to see the girl.

"I was very worried when you ran off without letting me examine you. You could have a concussion, you know."

"I don't… really want anyone… examining me…"

"Oh!" the girl feigned surprise. "So she does speak."

"Y-yes. You aren't… scared?"

"Of what, a little girl? No, my, no. Why would I be scared?"

"My…face?"

The girl huffed and furrowed her eyebrows. "Now, look here. If anyone said anything about your face, other than how adorable it is, I shall slap them!" A wide, goofy grin spread across her face, causing Mireille to smile, too.

"Ah, there. A little less serious, then. That's better. Now, then. What's your name?"

"M-Mireille."

"Absolutely beautiful. 'Mireille'. 'Miracle', I believe. I'm Jean." Jean stuck out her hand. Mireille took it gingerly, and they shook.

"There. Now, that's a proper introduction, don't you think? I-"

"Why…did you help me?"

"Oh? Oh. Why would I not? It's my job."

"Your…job?"

"Yes, well, not just yet. But I want to be a doctor. For the time being, though, I act as a sort of 'half-doctor' for the opera. My father is a props master, and he hurts himself a lot, so I learned how to fix him a lot. Now I just follow him everywhere to help whoever needs it."

"What about your mother?"

"She died when I was little. I don't remember her much, so I don't have much to be sad about. What about you?"

"I… live here."

"Here? Like, the opera house?"

"Yes."

"Hm. You know, it's funny. I've heard stories about a so-called 'phantom' that used to live here. They say he had a face like yours. The voice of an angel, as well. But they don't see him, anymore. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

"I—Oof!"

Before she could answer, a rather large encumbered man crashed into her, throwing her to the ground, tearing her mask from her face. Jean scurried over to her. "Oh, are you alright? You should be ashamed of yourself!" she turned to scold the man while helping Mireille up.

Mireille stumbled to her feet, catching her breath. She hadn't yet noticed that her mask had tumbled a few feet away. She looked ashamedly at Jean.

"Oh, it's alright, dear. Shoo, shoo," she waved the large man away.

As the drunk shambled away, another well-dressed man picked up Mireille's mask and offered it to her. "Excuse me. Miss but you-"

He stopped midsentence when Mireille turned to look at him.

"What in…good heavens…" he covered his mouth and backed away. People around them began to turn and look. There were gasps and coughs and retches, but the room remained sickeningly silent.

Mireille, pale-faced and wide-eyed, attempted to turn and run, only to find that she was blocked on all sides.

"What…are you?" one woman said.

"Is it even human?" said another.

"Revolting."

"Horrifying."

"Ghastly."

As the insults kept coming, Mireille felt tears of humiliation and fear well up behind her eyes. She felt frozen with fear. Jean was still beside her, clutching her arm. "It's alright, Mireille. Just ignore them. Let's go."

"No, you're not going anywhere!" Cried someone from behind them. They turned to see the managers pushing their way through the crowd. "That creature is a monster and deserves to burn!" He attempted to reach out and grab Mireille, but before he could, a shadowy figure dropped down between them.

"If you lay a finger on her, you die where you stand."

The manager was stunned. He opened his mouth, but there were no words.

Erik turned and took Mireille's hand, leading her through the crowd, which parted like the Red Sea.

"Wait!" the manager finally cried. "I thought… you were dead…"

Erik stopped, and turned slowly. "Dead?" He chuckled quietly and in a low voice, said:

"_You can't kill a phantom."_

Then both he and Mireille vanished in a burst of flames, leaving only smoke and a stunned crowd behind.


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

"What have you done?!"

"Erik, I'm sorry-"

"No!" Erik let go of Mireille's arm and turned violently on her. "It's too late for apologies. I gave you a chance, a chance to start over, and now…" he paused. "We are dead."

"No… we can't…"

"We could run, slip into the night, leave this place." Erik turned and hurried down the corridor into the cavern, Mireille at his heels. "If we are careful, we can escape undetected." He began to feverishly gather his papers and pinch out the candles, while Mireille stood motionless, teary-eyed, clutching her mask to her chest.

"Erik… I am sorry…"

Erik stopped and turned to her. "I know. I know…" he came towards her and knelt down, gently clasping her shoulders. "I am sorry, too."

Mireille sniffled. "F-for what?"

"Everything. You don't deserve this." Erik sighed. "I don't blame you for what happened. I blame myself."

"What? Why?"

Erik closed his eyes. "I thought I could keep you safe forever. I underestimated your curiosity and spirit. I should have known that you would not fear as I did. I _must_ have known that you would not stand to listen and obey without question; you would have to see it for yourself. But _I_ should have been there with you. I should have been there…"

"Erik…" Mireille felt the tears begin to trickle down her scarred cheeks. "I…I love you…" The tiny, fragile girl dropped to her knees, sobbing and shivering with shuddering breaths. Erik caught her and pulled her into his arms, shielding her from the cruel, hateful world. "I… love you too…"

For a moment, nothing mattered. For a moment, the world was quiet. For a moment, they were safe, alone, together. Then a cascade of hurried footfalls echoed through the cavern.

"Mireille! Mireille, where are you?" Jean came flying down the stairs, but stopped short when she saw the two pitiful figures huddled on the cold, unforgiving stone floor.

"You…"

"Jean! You shouldn't be here!" Mireille ran to her friend and grabbed her shoulders. "Please, you have to leave!"

"Leave? Mireille, what's going on? Who are you?" she addressed Erik. "W-wait… I know you… you…"

"Whatever you know," he said calmly, "is wrong."

"What I know," Jean sighed, "Is that you-both of you- are mistreated, misunderstood, and live in constant fear of the rest of the world. I don't need to know anything else."

"Please, Erik," Mireille stepped in front of Jean. "Don't hurt her."

Erik stood and looked Jean over with suspicion and contempt. "I will not yet trust you. Nor will I harm you. You stand before me not in fear, but compassion. I have only know one other to do this…" his voice trailed off.

"I want Mireille to come back with me." Jean said quickly.

"What?" Mireille whirled around, shocked. "Go back? Are you insane? Do you know what they will do to me?"

"Nothing," Jean sad reassuringly, placing her hand on Mireille's shoulder. "I won't let them. I spoke to them, explained who you were. Most people left, but some stayed. They are curious, and sympathetic. They want to meet you."

"Meet me?"

Jean smiled gently. "Yes. I convinced them to give you a chance."

"But…why? Why would you help me?"

"Because I'm a nurse," Jean laughed. "I help people. Everyone." She held out her hand. "You just have to take it…"

Mireille smiled lightly. She began to take Jean's hand, then turned and glanced at Erik.

Erik said nothing. He stood silent, motionless. Then he nodded slightly. "If there is a chance to make things right…"

Mireille grinned, and she and Jean skipped up the stairs, giggling joyfully, to a new dawn, hand in hand.


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

"Alright, ladies! From the top, please!" the piercing voice of the director ricocheted off every surface of the stage and wings and up through the empty rafters.

The ballet girls giggled and twittered amoung themselves, filing into the wings for their cue. Mireille, perched on a prop boulder and the front of the stage, lifted her violin to her chin.

The director nodded at the maestro, who tapped his baton on the stand and launched the orchestra into action. The girls began to trickle out from behind the curtain, fluttering about the stage.

Mireille closed her eyes and drew her bow over the strings in rhythmic, emotional strokes. To her, every movement was a new opportunity, a new chance at life, and not one would pass her by, not one be played half-hearted. She felt the music swirl and rise within her heart-

"Stop!" the director screeched. The girls started and tumbled over one another in their shock. "What was that?!" he waved his hands in exasperation. "Please, tell me you aren't trying, tell me you can do better! Miss Plume, lift your knees up, act like a dancer, please!"

"Sorry, sir, but my leg hurts," the small girl squeaked.

The director sighed. "Oh, well fine. Get it looked at. Take a break everyone."

The girls relaxed and began filing off the stage. "Hi, Jean." They waved at the girl perched atop a pile of crates.

"Good morning, girls." Jean smiled at them as they passed.

"Jean, will you look at my ankle?" the littlest girl limped over to her.

"Of course. Beautiful playing, Mireille."

"Thank you." Mireille plopped down beside her friend on the box. She leaned back and closed her eyes, smiling gently to herself.

After that night at the gala, everything had changed. Emerging into the war light of the hall was like being born into a new, welcoming world. Every face she was met with was smiling, and every word said to her was kind.

Perhaps the majority of people were sugar-coating their words, regarding her as if she were a babbling child or an invalid. But either way, it was _easily_ preferable to ridicule and threats.

And Jean was an extremely protective guide. As she and Mireille wandered the halls, sharing stories and laughing at jokes, if a stranger wandered too close or stared too long, Jean would glare at him and he would back away.

Mireille and Jean spent the entire night sampling the food, talking with the guests, and dancing to the swaying music. Mireille had never felt so free, so… human. It truly was a chance to change everything. And perhaps, after she had gained their trust and friendship, Erik could do the same.

Now Mireille no longer had to hide in the shadows, crawl the rafters, or conceal herself in shame, jumping at every little noise. She walked amoung the people, talking with them, laughing with them. Jean now paid regular visits to the cavern, and Erik even seemed to warm to her. He longer regarded her as a threat, but a companion.

Mireille now spent her days lounging about the stage, observing the rehearsals, and occasionally joining in with the orchestra upon request, brandishing her gleaming violin (which she happened to have stolen _from_ the orchestra, but that was never mentioned).

The things she learned everyday amazed her, and she felt braver than ever. But to her horror, this would not last.

"Who is that?" Mireille, wide-eyed, gazed out at a young man on the stage. His white-blond hair hung lightly in his sky-blue eyes, which shimmered in the light. Even from backstage, she could see the pure emotion on his youthful, freckled face as he skillfully performed the _Servant's Lament_, a mournful requiem of a lost, mistreated servant boy. The young man, despite his youth, sang with such passion and professionalism that he might have rivaled Erik himself.

When the song ended, a raucous round of applause thundered throughout the hall, and the young man bowed, grinning proudly. As he turned and sauntered off, he caught Mireille's gaze, and, for a moment, she thought she saw a sparkle of intrigue in his eye.

"That's Zephyr Emeer, the new tenor," Jean whispered. "They say he's world renowned as the youngest professional tenor."

Mireille blushed. "He's… very good."

"He is," Jean continued, oblivious to Mireille's red face. "His father is also employed as a performer here."

"Really?"

"Yes, surely you must have seen him around? Sabien Emeer is the new lead bass. He's rather…" Jean thought for a moment. "Unpolished. I would stay out of his way if I were you."

"Right…" Mireille leaned back against the box deep, in thought. She couldn't get that boy's face out of her mind.

_Zephyr… hmm…_

Mireille's pacing footsteps echoed in the empty wings of the stage. Rehearsals had long since ended, and she was alone with her thoughts in the wooden belly of the whale.

For nearly an hour, Mireille had been pacing feverishly back and forth, running the whole scenario through her mind. Surely she couldn't just go and talk to him? No, she could never do that. Perhaps leave him a note in his room? No, that would be disturbing. Maybe-

"I've been searching for you."

Mireille spun around, startled. "Who's there?!"

"Only me." Zephyr emerged from the shadows, a gentle smile on his face.

"O-oh…did…you need something?"

"Actually, yes. I wanted to speak with you."

"Oh?"

"I saw you perform earlier. You were rather exquisite. You're Mireille, correct?"

"Yes," Mireille answered wearily.

"I've heard your name quite often around here. You're quite the character, it seems. I'm aware of your skill with a bow. I am also aware that you are involved with the Opera Ghost."

Mireille turned her head away, thinking carefully about her response. "What do you want?" she finally asked curtly.

"Oh, I think you misunderstand. I only wanted to speak with you. You _are _quite the celebrity."

Mireille smiled cautiously. "I would consider _you_ more the celebrity than myself."

Zephyr laughed. "Nonsense!" He stepped closer to her. "You have a reputation for your mystery. I wanted to get to know you better, the girl behind the mask, I suppose."

"Know me?"

"Yes," Zephyr lilted. "I must admit, I was intrigued when I saw you earlier. I wanted to become... acquainted."

"Oh…alright." Mireille felt her heart pound. Zephyr was already an attractive young man, but seeing him up close, speaking to him, was almost overwhelming. He was rather charming, as well.

But as the two spoke, neither noticed Jean peering around the corner, listening warily to their conversation.

"This…can't be good." She whispered to herself, before turning and hurrying away.


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

"Emeer?" Erik looked up from his writing desk. "You're certain?"

"Yes!" Jean plopped into a patterned chair and sighed. "He's trouble, I can tell." She paused. "You don't just think I'm jealous?"

"No, you're right. Nothing good ever came from that boy. And his father is a bit of a rabble-rouser. I've heard whispers that he's been asking about me."

"Oh, that's just what we need." Jean put her head in her hands. "I fear Mireille's fallen head over heels for him. She's naïve, and blind to the danger. He's far too…charming…"

"It's not the boy I worry about; it's his father. Sabien Emeer is renowned for his wanton cruelty and stubborn loathing. I fear he has now set his sights on Mireille and me."

"What makes you think that?"

Erik stepped down from his ledge and began to pace. "Are you aware of a death that occurred here some time ago, a stagehand by the name Joseph Buquet?"

Jean thought for a moment. "Yes, I think so. I heard he hanged himself."

"No, that was what the public was told," Erik said with a pained look on his face. "He…died by my hand. One of the many casualties of my…regrettable past."

"But what does that have to do with Emeer?"

"I later learned that Buquet was his cousin. The two were apparently very close. Buquet only had his job as a stagehand because of Emeer. They were like brothers,"

"And…you killed him."

"I don't need your criticism!" Erik snapped, turning violently to Jean. She realized something in him had just snapped, and she pressed herself into her chair. She could see the rage and pain in his glowing eyes. "You don't think I regret my actions, think of them every day, wish I could take it all back! Look where it's gotten me! It haunts me to this day, their names, their faces, their screams, swimming in my head, shrieking, contorting like a swarm of eels!" Erik stood silent for a long while, facing the black mirror lake, breathing slowly and heavily. Jean could not see it, but his eyes were wide with terror.

Jean sat very still, very quiet, fearing to even breathe. "I…" she whispered carefully, as if afraid she would cause an avalanche. "I-I'm sorry…" she rose from her chair and moved carefully towards him.

"This," he breathed, without turning, "this is what I regret most of all. You fear me, don't you? Fear for your life? You creep softly, speak with a quivering voice, afraid I might explode again. And there is only myself to blame." Erik gave Jean a sideways glance. "I regret many things, but _this_, most of all. It is my punishment, I suppose. My curse."

Erik sat down behind his desk and dropped his head into his hands, quivering slightly. Jean stood there awkwardly for a moment, not sure what to do. "I… I _am_ sorry…" She came up behind him and put her hand on his shoulder. Erik started and looked wearily up at her.

"Don't apologize, please. I am the one at fault. I shouldn't have taken my anger out on you, shouldn't have said those things…"

"Well, it's better than bottling it up. I just hope it helped."

"That is not your responsibility."

"But it _is_," Jean pleaded. "I'm a nurse, remember? It's my job to help people. Just think of me as…your confidant, alright?" Jean paused. "Honestly, I never could've imagined the pain you're going through. You seem to suffer from it constantly. I just wish there was some way to help."

"Mireille."

"What?"

"Help Mireille." Erik looked up at Jean. "I worry about her constantly. I am beyond salvation, but she is not. I just hope she won't do anything she will regret. And I fear this boy will lead to trouble."

"You want me to keep an eye on her?"

"Please do."

Jean grinned. "Of course. I care about Mireille, too. I would do anything for that girl. Just like you would, I'm sure."

Erik smiled weakly. "Yes," he nodded. "_Anything_."


	17. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

"That damned wretch! How dare he show his hideous face!" Sabien Emeer roared and flung his half-empty glass of brandy across the room, where it impacted with the wall and shattered. "After all these years he claws his way back from the depths of Hell just to terrorize me!"

Emeer's posse had gathered in his dressing room to discuss the appearance of the Opera Ghost. The six men lounged in cushioned chairs or leaned against the wall. They watched in wary obedience as Emeer paced, steaming, about the ornately decorated room.

"He cannot be allowed to live," Emeer murmured, speaking more to himself to his companions. "He _will_ pay for what he has done."

"And how do you plan to accomplish that?" one of the more confident of the men, a well-groomed young man, rose from his chair and approached Emeer. "He's called a 'ghost' for a reason. He can't be touched."

"Do you doubt me, Avery?"

"I merely question the probability of such a plan coming to the intended fruition. Nothing against you intellect, of course."

"Avery, you've been my right hand for years and I'm still not sure whether you're with or against me."

Avery grinned coyly. "Then perhaps it would please you to know that our friend the Phantom has a particular weakness. A soft spot, you might say."

Emeer raised his eyebrows. "What is that?"

"A girl."

The men snickered and nudged each other. Avery shook his head. "Don't be so childish. This girl is like a daughter to him. He practically raised her. But she is naïve, weak. If we can take her, he will be at our mercy."

Emeer thought for a moment. "But what would we do with her?"

"She was once kept as a patient in a nearby mental ward. She killed a guard and escaped." Avery sat down and sipped his drink. "If we return her, I have no doubt they will punish her to your liking."

"No!" Zephyr cried as he leaped out from behind the door.

"Boy!" Emeer grabbed his arm and pulled him into the room. "What are you doing!? How long have you been there?"

"Father, you can't hurt Mireille! She doesn't deserve this!"

"Mireille?" Avery looked up from his drink. "It appears he is well acquainted with the girl."

"What were you thinking?" Emeer slapped Zephyr across the face. The boy was sent spinning, and fell, sprawled out on the floor, a bright red mark appearing on his cheek. "I forbid you to speak with that…that _creature_!"

"Wait a moment, Sabien." Avery held up his hand. "I believe we may have just found our key to this girl's capture."

Emeer glanced at him. "The boy?"

"I have no doubt that our friend guards this girl very closely. But if we can _coax_ her to come to us…"

"The demon falls right into our hands. Ha!" Emeer guffawed and dragged the still-stunned Zephyr to his feet. "I never imagined you have been of such use to me!"

"I… don't want to hurt her…"

"Too bad!"

Avery turned to Zephyr. "You will play a crucial role in our plan. Here is what we will do…"


	18. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Zephyr crept nervously along the darkened hallways, with only the sound of his muffled footfalls on the plush carpet falling in rhythm with his racing heartbeat to fill his ears.

He glanced from side to side, straining to spot any movement beyond the shadows.

The words of his father echoed in his mind, pushing him further into the darkness.

The plan was laid out clearly. He knew his part. He didn't want to do this. But he feared his father more than his conscience.

"Zephyr!"

Zephyr whirled around at the sound of Mireille's voice. "Ah! You're here!"

"Of course!" Mireille giggled and skipped towards him. "You asked me to come."

"Ah, yes, about that…" he felt the sweat rolling down his forehead. He wipe it away with his sleeve and cleared his throat. He didn't want Mireille to be hurt, but he could still feel the sting on his cheek. He knew his father was capable of much worse when he was angry.

"I… need to show you something." He took Mireille's hand and led her to a set of great carved wood door. He knew that on the other side, his father and his men were waiting, armed with nets and guns.

Mireille reached out and grabbed the knob. She looked up at the ceiling, awed by the sheer size. She pulled hard, and the door began to creak open…

"Stop!" Zephyr threw himself against the door, slamming it shut with a dense _bang_. "You… you can't!"

"Zephyr, what… what are you doing?"

"Don't… don't go in there. I just remembered… it's… not ready."

"Not… ready?"

"Yes! I mean, no!" Zephyr took her hand off the knob and held it. "It's a surprise. For you. And it's not ready," he said quickly.

"Not… Mireille, shocked by Zephyr's sudden shift in demeanor, pulled her hand away and stepped back. "Zephyr, what's going on?"

Zephyr froze. "Mireille, I…" he sighed and took her hands, his eyes meeting hers. "Look, I admire you, alright? I just want to keep you safe, will you trust me?"

Mireille furrowed her eyebrows for a moment. Then a sweet smile spread across her face. "Yes, yes I trust you."

Their hands still gently clasped, Zephyr leaned forward and kissed Mireille on the cheek, then turned and disappeared into the darkness, leaving Mireille standing there, blushing, beaming after him.


	19. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

"You stupid bastard!" Emeer brought his fist down over Zephyr's head, sending the boy careening to the floor. "You had one job! One simple _bloody_ job! How do you screw it up so badly?!" Emeer's face was red and the veins stood out on his head. One might almost see steam coming from his ears as he paced back and forth in front of his son.

"Father, I-"

"Shut up!" Emeer roared and drove his boot into Zephyr's stomach. The boy coughed and spluttered, clutching his gut in agony.

"It seems the boy has failed us." Avery dropped into a chair and closed his eyes. "He cannot be relied upon."

"I won't hurt her…" Zephyr wheezed from the floor. "I won't… I love her…"

Avery opened his eyes and Emeer froze.

"You…love her?"

Zephyr fell silent.

"That girl is a _monster_."

"Her name is Mireille!" Zephyr struggled to his feet and looked his father in the eye. "And she is beautiful!"

"Enough!" Avery stood so fast he nearly toppled the chair. Both Emeer and Zephyr turned, startled by Avery's sudden outburst.

"That – _creature_ – is no girl. It's a demon that crawled its way from the depths of Hell. It should never be seen, let alone _loved_." Avery's eyes burned with anger. "It brings nothing but suffering and chaos. That _thing_ should _not_ be allowed to live." Avery's breathing was hard and rapid, like a bull eyeing its target.

Emeer took a step away from him. "Clearly you have your own reservations about that girl."

Avery took a deep breath. "_Ahem_. Yes, I do apologize." He adjusted his tie and took his seat. "That was… rather unprofessional."

"So you… have a history with her?"

"You might say that. But no matter. At the moment, we must focus on our quarry's capture."

Emeer eyed him cautiously. "What do you have in mind?"


	20. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

There was a hazy depression cast over the city of Paris. The sun had long since set, but the stars were blanketed by a think mantle of clouds. Even the bright, full moon could hardly peek through. A light rain had begun to fall, puddling in the grimy crevices of the cobblestone streets.

Avery pulled his hat lower over his eyes, ducking his head and splashing through the water.

He glanced around tentatively as he climbed the stained stone steps leading to a great iron door. It echoed and rattled menacingly when he pounded on it, a hollow groan that echoed down the empty streets.

Avery stepped back as the door creaked open, revealing a stooped skeleton of a man with yellow skin and crooked teeth, and eyes nearly bugging out of his head.

"Yeesss?" he wheezed.

"Doctor Wolffe, I presume?"

"Ah, Messieurs Avery. I've been awaiting your arrival. Please, this way."

The doctor shuffled aside and Avery stepped into the damp corridor, the iron door slamming and locking shut behind him.

Avery followed the doctor down the musty, dimly lit hall and into a cramped room furnished with only a metal table and two rusted chairs.

"Please, eh, sit." The doctor pulled out a chair for his companion, then took his place opposite him.

"So," he hissed, "you have business to discuss?"

"Yes. I understand you lost custody of an inmate here, a young girl with a horrid malformation."

"Indeed, some years ago. She took a guard's life in her escape."

"Well," Avery leaned forward and crossed his arms on the table. "I believe I've found her."

The doctor's eyes lit up. "You've found the demon child?"

"I have."

Wolffe grinned maliciously. "This is most fortuitous."

"The girl is clever, and well-protected by his companion."

"Companion?"

"I assume you're acquainted with the Opera Ghost?"

Wolffe nearly fell out of his chair. "Surely you jest?" he questioned excitedly.

"I do not."

Gathering himself, Wolffe sat for a moment in silent thought. "He would make an excellent specimen. Difficult to obtain, though."

"The girl is his Achilles' heel. Take her, and we have him."

"And you think we can catch her?"

"Don't worry about that. You bring your men, and I'll bring mine. We'll have her."

Wolffe wrung his hands and cackled. "If I might inquire, what is your interest in this girl?"

"Irrelevant. Just supply your men. Leave the rest to me."

"Very well." Wolffe stood and grasped Avery's hands with a surprisingly strong grip. "This will be a scientific revolution!"

"Yes." Avery's eyes sparked. "Yes."

The iron door creaked closed again as Avery stepped down onto the damp cobblestone. The rain had since ceased, but the heavy mist still hung in the air.

As Avery stalked through the darkness, his mind wandered back to the start of it all, that fateful night when his mind cracked and his heart was broken. That _horrible_ night…

Little Merin Avery could hardly reach the pedals oh his new bicycle. His newspaper satchel, almost empty, bounced around as he toddled merrily down the street. The sun hadn't quite set, but it was already hard to see.

His father had warned him to finish his rounds and get home before dark, lest he fall victim to a blinded carriage.

Despite only having been delivering newspapers for a week, Merin already knew the route by heart. The eight-year-old boy was determined to make his father proud.

Merin rounded a corner, humming cheerfully. His next delivery was just in sight.

The worn miniscule house looked almost dead, but Merin could still see a faint light coming from behind a window shutter. He pulled up alongside the window and tossed the paper onto the doorstop before dismounting his bike and kneeling down to tie his shoe.

There was a faint rustling above him, a _click_, and a square of cobblestone beside him was bathed in yellow light.

Merin realized the window was open. He stood up to greet the occupant, only to come face-to-face with the bloody, rotten face of a monster. Merin was too stunned to even scream.

shaking, he backed away, eyes locked with the creatures. When it suddenly vanished from the window, Merin panicked, and took off, speeding down the alley.

Merin didn't think where he was running. He just wanted to get away from the creature as fast as he could.

The alley let out into a street. Merin burst from the alley, screaming and crying for help, afraid the creature was at his heels.

But he never saw the carriage.

The horses balked and heaved, women screamed, and men rushed over to see what had happened. The crowd grew while Merin's cries for help turned to wails of agonising pain. Then he fell silent.

"_I know this boy_, one man whispered. "_It's the Avery child," said another._

"Merin?" Avery pushed his way through the crowd. "Merin!"

Avery rushed to the boy and fell to his knees, cradling the motionless child. "_Merin…_" Avery shut his eyes tight against the tears and trembled with rage.

"_Who… is responsible for this?_"

No one answered.

"_Who?!_" Avery roared and leaped to his feet. "_Who killed my boy?!_"

"He came running from the Pierre house,"

"Isn't that the home of the demon-child?"

"_Demon-child…_" Avery repeated in a tense whisper. "_Demon…_"


	21. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

"So, Mireille," Jean plopped down next to her friend. "Are you ready for the performance?"

"Performance?" Mireille blinked.

"Y…yes… the performance… tomorrow night…your solo…"

"Oh… I suppose." Mireille turned back to stare blankly into the darkness beyond the lake's shore.

"What's wrong?" You're usually so excited for a chance to play."

"I am." Mireille glanced over at Jean. "I just… I have a bad feeling about this. I have for a while."

"What kind of feeling?"

"Like… something bad is about to happen."

Both girls turned at the sudden sound of footfalls echoing on the staircase, Mireille tensed up.

"Ah, there you are," Erik nodded to them as he rounded the corner. "I've been searching for you."

"Oh, Erik." Mireille relaxed a bit.

"Mireille, I wanted to make sure you practiced before tomorrow night."

"What, you don't trust me?"

"No," he replied flatly. Mireille glared back at him, and he allowed himself a quiet chuckle. "I know your habit of putting practice off until the last minute. Despite being a prodigy, you still have to practice.

"Oh, like you'd know."

"I do, actually, yes."

Mireille rolled her eyes jokingly. "Oh, alright," she smiled and reached for her violin.

"I'll leave you to it. Wouldn't want to ruin the surprise." Jean stood and took her leave.

Mireille watched Jean vanish up the staircase before closing her eyes and lifting her bow. Then she paused.

"Erik?" she opened her eyes again.

"Hm?"

"You've…been in love, right?"

Erik didn't respond. Mireille turned to look at him. "I'm sorry, that was rather sudden."

"Yes, well, to answer your question, I did love, once."

"Christine, right?"

Erik caught his breath. He didn't say anything.

"I'm sorry," Mireille put down her violin and approached him. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…"

"No, you're right." Erik smiled sadly. "It's… a special feeling, one you can't mistake. And once you feel it, it… never quite goes away. You feel it too, don't you?"

"Yeah," Mireille grinned sheepishly. "I thought that's what it was, but I couldn't be sure. I'd wondered for a long time, but now I know. I love him."

"Zephyr Emeer?"

"Yes," she sighed, "yeah, and I think he loves me, too."

"I'm sure he does."

Mireille sat down. "I… almost thought you'd be mad."

"Why should I be mad?" Erik sat beside her. "Why should I hate you for that?"

Mireille leaned her head on his shoulder. "I don't know. Heh, I don't know a lot of things. I don't know why I love this boy from another world. I don't know why I fear the future. I don't know why I can't laugh without expecting someone to slap the smile off my horrid face,"

Erik put his arm around her and pulled her closer. "Don't worry about any of that. Let me do that instead. I'll protect you, no matter what."

"Promise?"

Erik smiled. "Promise."


	22. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

It was time. Finally, time.

The lights were ignited, seats filled, props readied, orchestra cued, and all their hearts were fluttering.

Mireille stood motionless in the wings, watching, mesmerised by the constant swarming of the cast and the crew, back and forth, here and there, bustling by her while she enveloped herself in her thoughts.

This was it. Her chance to prove that she was worth _something_. The people would gape, awed, starry-eyed, as her bow danced across the strings. She would charm the masses and earn her place in society!

But there was still this _dread _in the pit of her stomach. It slithered its way up into her chest, wrapping its cold, slimy tentacles around her heart. But still, she had to go on. She had too much to lose.

The lights dimmed. The curtain rose. The audience applauded. This was it. This was the most agonizing part, the anxious wait for your cue, all the horrible possibilities running through your head.

"Are you ready?" Jean came up behind her and placed her hand on her shoulder. "I believe in you, you know."

Mireille smiled weakly. "If only I did."

Jean smirked. "You don't mean that. You'll do great."

Mireille gave a weak laugh and gazed out at the waiting stage.

_Here I come…_

The moment she set foot in the beaming light, she knew this was where she was destined to be. The crowd looked on in awe, but where once there was horror, now there was reverence.

And for the first time, Mireille stood tall before a crowd of strangers, proud and determined, lifted her bow, closed her eyes, and released all the beautiful wonders of her heart onto the strings.

If you were sat in the crowd at this moment, you might notice that not a muscle moved, not an eye blinked, not a voice broke the stunned silence. They were all entranced by the sonorous cry of this girl's soul.

Mireille had no inhibitions anymore. Yes, they were staring at her. Yes, she was on display. But by her _own _volition. _She_ was the centre of attention; they were here to hear _her_. That was their _privilege_. Mireille let a single tear roll down her cheek as she realised: she made it.

Mireille held her last fermata, and released the note with a flourish, holding her bow triumphantly over her head. A moment of pregnant silence. Then the hall erupted into thunderous applause, every man was standing, every eye sparkled with tears. Mireille bowed deeply, grinning madly, not restraining the tears that fell freely from her shadowed eyes.

Practically running from the stage, Mireille fell into Jean's arms, sobbing happily. "I did it, I did it!"

"Yes, yes you did!" Jean laughed and held Mireille out in front of her. "You did. I'm so proud of you." Jean pulled Mireille into an embrace, and stroked her long, white hair. "I'm so proud."

"Hey," Mireille lifted her head to look at Jean. "Let's crawl up to the rafters and watch the rest of the performance."

"Sure."

The two slithered their way up through the wooden beams and ropes to the niche over the stage and perched themselves there to watch the dancers, giggling gleefully.

Mireille froze at a creak from behind them. "Did…did you hear something?"

Before Jean could answer, a heavy thug grabbed Mireille around the torso and lifted her up, kicking and screaming.

"Get off her!" Jean leaped to her feet and latched herself onto his burly arm, trying to tear Mireille from his grip.

"I ain't gonna hurt her," the thug growled. "I'll just throw her in a cage where she belongs. Boss'll pay me good."

"Who hired you?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, you little—ouf!"

The thug was thrown onto his back as a dark mass plummeted onto his head from above. Mireille flew from his grip and landed next to Jean. "What-"

Erik rolled to his feet and pushed the girls behind him. "Are you hurt?" he asked over his shoulder.

"We're fine. What's going on?"

"It's Emeer. No time to explain." Erik eyed the thug shifting to his feet. "You need to run. Get out of here!"

Mireille turned, then hesitated.

"Go!"

"What about you?"

"I'll be fine, get out of here!"

Jean grabbed Mireille's hand and the two scarpered down the rafters and raced their way through the hallways, panting heavily. Mireille kept glancing around, hoping Erik would follow.

"Look out!" Jean skidded to a stop, confronted by and army of thugs, headed by Wolffe and Emeer.

"Give it up, girl. Turn yourselves in, and we'll go peacefully."

Jean shoved Mireille in the opposite direction, rounding a corner and forcing her into a hidden passage.

"There's no way we can outrun them!"

"I know," Jean said curtly. "They'll have blocked every exit." They both stopped running. Jean looked at Mireille. "I have an idea."

"You lost her?!" Emeer roared at the thugs. "What am I paying you for?!"

"She'll be easy to spot," Wolffe spat. "Split up and go after her."

The thugs nodded and rushed off.

"I'll go, too." Avery materialised from the shadows. "If you want a job done well, do it yourself." He retrieved a pistol from his breast pocket and disappeared back into the darkness.

"Hey," one of the burly thugs elbowed his companion as they wandered the empty halls. "Did you hear something'?"

Before the other could answer, a flash of midnight blue whipped around the corner and vanished down the hall.

"Oi! After her!" The two thugs pounded away after their quarry.

They followed her through the halls, up and down staircases, and into the maze of tunnels in the walls. They were barely at her heels…

Suddenly, her shoe caught a jutting nail and she went tumbling to the ground. The thugs jumped on top of her and one dragged her to her feet and pulled her hood off.

Jean grinned cheekily up at the two shocked faces. "Looking for someone?"

After Jean had donned Mireille's cloak, the two parted ways, Jean off to distract the guards, and Mireille to escape.

But as she slunk through the dark passageways, Mireille began to rethink their plan.

What would happen to Jean if she was caught? And what about Erik? She couldn't just leave him there!

But if they caught her? Imagine the torture they would put her through. But no, she had to go back. She would not leave Erik to the mercy of those bastards.

The wooden catwalks swayed and creaked and Erik and his opponent danced around each other, striking and dodging with unbroken concentration. The brawler thug swung at Erik, who ducked away, grabbed his arm, and wrapped it behind his back, pinning it in place and leaving the thug precariously dangling over the abyss below. The thug struggled and swore, but Erik maintained a tight grip.

Suddenly a shot rang out. The thug gasped, then choked and fell to his knees. Erik, shocked, released him, and the lifeless body plummeted to the floor below, landing in a broken heap.

Erik spun around, coming face to face with Avery.

"Who are you?"

"Your damnation." Avery lowered his gun and swaggered further out onto the platform.

"What do you want from me?"

"Oh, I want nothing _from_ you. I want to kill you."

Erik took a tentative step back.

"But what have I done to you? I don't know you, I have no grudge- "

"I don't need a reason. Your kind are monsters, demons, you have no right to live on this earth."

"My kind?"

"That girl. You should know that it is _she _that has brought this judgement upon you."

"What could Mireille possibly-"

"She murdered my son!" Avery stepped forward and raised his gun, eyes ablaze. "All you creatures do is cause _pain_ and bring _suffering_ upon this earth. You deserve nothing but _death_!" Avery levelled his gun at Erik's head, a devilish grin on his face. "Go back to Hell, demon!"

"No!" Mireille stumbled around the corner at full speed and leaped onto the catwalk. Avery whirled around.

"_You!_" He trained his sight between her eyes. He pulled the trigger just as Erik pounced on him.

The bullet missed Mireille's head by mere inches and ricocheted off into the darkness.

Mireille flinched and tumbled backwards, too stunned to stand.

Erik had latched himself onto Avery's back, and was crushing his throat while Avery flailed helplessly. But Erik's rage had blinded him.

Avery, struggling, pulled his gun up and aimed it blindly over his shoulder and pulled the trigger.

The blast was deafening, and Mireille covered her eyes as blood splattered across the backdrop behind them.

Erik wrapped his arms around Avery and roared as he flung him off the catwalk. Avery sailed down through the props and sandbags. He screamed and clutched at the ropes flying past. He grabbed onto one, was tangled in a nest of ropes, being jerked back up. He released the rope in shock, slipped through the ropes, one ensnaring his neck. The rope snapped taught, and the screaming went silent, the motionless mass dangling morbidly over the stage.

"Erik!" Mireille stumbled to her feet and grabbed onto his cape. His eyes were glazed and distant, his mouth open slightly, a steady stream of crimson running from his lips. He turned his head slowly, his weak gaze meeting hers. "Mirei…" his voice trailed off as his eyes rolled back, and he toppled forward, plunging down past ropes and props, landing with a sickening _thud_ on the merciless wood stage. He lay in a motionless heap in the darkness far below.

Mireille scrambled down the structure and fell to her knees at his side, sobbing uncontrollably. "Erik! Wake up, please! Open your eyes!"

He didn't move.

Jean sprinted backstage. "What happened?" She froze when she saw the pool of blood growing steadily from his abdomen.

"Oh, no…" she grabbed her satchel and pulled out a roll of bandages and a wad of gauze, and kneeled down next to Mireille.

A small crowd began to gather around them. No one spoke, no one moved. A few reached up and removed their hats. Others closed their eyes and bowed their heads, some clutching at crucifixes.

If Mireille had not been preoccupied with Erik, she might have noticed that the people around them, the cast and crew, the orchestra and directors, were not an angry mob, brandishing weapons and hurling insults like stones, but a silent, still mass, mourning with respect ans humanity.

The moon was bright and full, the stars shone, and there was a cool breeze rustling the foliage. The world was at peace.

The opera house was quiet. It was dark. Only one lamp burned in a room high up in the eaves, where a young girl clutched the cold hand of her dear companion, crying out for an absent God's mercy.


	23. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

"It's been quite a year, hasn't it?" Jean exclaimed over the raucous of the fireworks as she approached Mireille.

Mireille looked over her shoulder at her friend and smiled. "Quite a year." She turned back to observing the scene before her.

The two girls stood on a balcony overlooking the courtyard below, gaiety. Overhead, the open night sky burst with colour, lit by fireworks over the full, glowing moon.

A small stage was nestled in a corner of the area; a string quartet sat upon it, their bows singing across the strings without a care.

The merry thrall danced and laughed, some stood by the walls with drinks in their hands, chatting away into the night. Not one person had a care, not a worry. For one glorious night, all was well.

Mireille smiled to herself. This party was the beginning of a new age. The future was wide open to her, anything was possible.

After the events of the last few years, particularly the last few months, the opera had finally reached a time of peace. After Avery's death, Emeer vanished, along with his goons. Wolffe was relieved of his licence, and cloistered himself in hid house; some say he died there in the darkness. Everything had returned to normal. At least, almost everything.

"Mireille?" Zephyr came up and touched her shoulder. "I've been looking for you."

"Sorry," she replied, turning. "I just came up here to think."

"I'll leave you two alone." Jean smirked, at which Mireille smacked her on the arm. Jean giggled and sauntered off.

"Are you okay?" Zephyr asked Mireille.

"Yeah, sure. I'm just… a lot has changed since I arrived here. First, I met Jean, then that party, and then your father. It's been rough. And now Erik…"

"Hey," Zephyr took her hands into his. "don't stress yourself. Everything will be okay, alright? And I'll be here for you, always."

Mireille smiled. Zephyr leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, hugged her tightly, and hurried off. "Better get ready for the presentation!" he called over his shoulder.

"Right!" Mireille watched as he disappeared inside, and sighed to herself. Things had definitely changed, alright.

Mireille headed down the stairs and stood behind the closed doors leading to the courtyard. Her heart was pounding, but this time it was excitement and pride that forced adrenaline into her system. This is where she'd wanted to be, and now she was here.

"This is it," Said a voice behind her. Mireille didn't look, but she smirked to herself.

"You're late."

"I don't get an excuse?"

"No," she snorted, turning to face Erik.

Things certainly had changed. He was no longer the amble, shadowy phantom that would fly amoung the rafters, ever present, ever unseen. He was no longer capable. The bullet from Avery's pistol had torn down through his chest and obliterated his right pelvic joint. The doctors couldn't do much, but at least they had saved his life. That was enough for her, but she worried that he would sink into a dark depression, returning to his cave as a recluse. She would humour him in any way she could. In her mind she mourned for him; he was forever cursed to hobble around on a polished wooden cane, never to climb or run again. The bullet had also grazed his lung, the muscles damaged beyond repair. He would never sing like he used to. To Mireille, it seemed a living hell. But she hoped that she could keep him occupied, that she would be his vice. And perhaps tonight would give him purpose.

"Ready?"

He nodded, and she turned and thrust open the doors, the two striding out, heads held high. They were met with thunderous applause, every eye upon them in reverence. Jean ran up to them and held up her arms in celebration. "Your new managers!" she proclaimed proudly. The applause rose again, and Mireille and Erik grinned at each other. Neither ever could have imagined this future for themselves. Jean turned around, beaming. "Let the party begin."

The music played late into the night. No one tired, no one left. Everyone was perfectly content in each other's presence, finally at peace with all.

Mireille and Erik sat by the musicians, arguing, or as Mireille kept insisting, 'enthusiastically discussing' the superiority of Bach to Mozart; meanwhile Jean and Zephyr stuffed their faces.

At around midnight, the quartet began a waltz, sombre yet pleasant. Erik stood and held out his hand.

"Huh?" Mireille looked up at him. "I can't dance."

"Then it's about time you learn." Erik pulled her up and walked her to the centre of the courtyard, where many other couples danced.

Erik guided her through the steps, still leaning on his cane, and her stumbling clumsily over her own feet. But no one could mistake the massive grin on her face beautiful face, as she looked up at Erik, smiling warmly down at her. Far above, the brilliant white moon shone at its peak, and the stars sparkled like Mireille's eyes in the endless black of the night sky. And they danced into the night, confident of a welcoming future, content in themselves, and comforted in each other. And that was all they needed.

The end.


End file.
